


blue eyes

by lobotomycastiel



Series: Baby Jack Widower Arc Fics [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Angst, Baby Jack Kline, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Parenthood, widower arc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-14
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-21 18:22:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30025962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lobotomycastiel/pseuds/lobotomycastiel
Summary: For the fifth time that day, Dean passes by Jack’s nursery to find Cas reading to their son.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Baby Jack Widower Arc Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2221527
Comments: 20
Kudos: 114





	blue eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Hello Destiel community! This fic is set during the Widower arc (beginning of season 13) and is happy at first, and then quickly becomes sad. I don't want to spoil anything, but I am very sorry I'm like this.

For the fifth time that day, Dean passes by Jack’s nursery to find Cas reading to their son. Six months have gone by way too quickly - they started solid foods last week, the kid’s a huge fan of watermelon and corn, but carrots and plums have been a hard sell. 

It’s also the fifth time that day that Dean’s noticed that Cas looks fucking radiant. The trenchcoat had been sexy in the same way that a stripper’s top or a car’s hood is sexy - you don’t actually care about it, you just wanna see what’s underneath it. Now, though, he _can_ see what’s underneath it, and he’s not disappointed. 

Cas is in a faded grey AC/DC shirt, a pair of plaid pajama pants, and the fuzzy bee socks Eileen got him last Christmas, and Dean has never been more turned on by someone being fully clothed in his life. And what makes it sexier is that Cas doesn’t even know how hot he looks - he’s just sitting there reading their son-- oh goddammit. 

“Is that Vonnegut? Again? Babe, not that I don’t want him appreciating the classics, but c’mon, you keep that up, he’ll be a mini Sam. No way in hell am I dealing with that.” He heads over to the rocking chair next to the crib and drags his husband up for a kiss, fiddling with the silver band around his ring finger. 

Cas pulls away, rolling his eyes fondly. "You’ll live. Sit with me?" They move to the bay window, making a stop by the record player for a second to pop on a little Zeppelin, and look out at their lawn, vivid with wildflowers even in November. It’s been such a damn good year for them. They lie down together, which lets him run his fingers through Cas’ hair and his other arm around his waist, possessive. If Cas thinks he’s a caveman for it, he doesn’t say, just goes along with it and lets Dean kiss him senseless. 

  
Marriage, a white picket fence… hell, he’s only got around two weeks to go until he can say he’s been six months sober. Having a kid was the best thing to happen to him. 

Jack, who’s recently discovered his legs, grips the bars of his crib and tries to stand to get a good look at them. He wobbles a bit, but he pulls himself up and babbles before falling down. “You okay, kiddo?” he asks, hoping that Jack hasn’t hurt himself accidentally, even though his crib is padded to hell and back. God, parenthood is amazing, but he hasn’t felt this concerned about someone’s well-being since Sam was two and got food poisoning from expired cheese. 

Their son, for his part, just looks at Dean with his massive blue eyes, and says, succinctly, “abababa.” 

“Jack, that’s not very nice,” Cas admonishes, sounding scandalized, and Dean can’t help but give his husband a shove. 

“Stop making him make fun of me.”  
  


“I’m not _making_ him do anything, it simply seems he’s inherited your creativity when it comes to insults.” His husband is such a bitch sometimes. Dean loves him so much. 

“You’re an ass. Get up, I think I left the oven on or something, I smell smoke.” He takes his eyes off Cas for a sec, staring at the door. It’s white. He could’ve sworn that their house came with dark wood everything. That was part of the charm. When he takes a second look, it’s back to being the stained cedar that Cas fell in love with. 

“Did you bake bread today? I thought Tuesdays were bread days.” And Cas is right. Tuesdays _are_ bread days. He blinks, taking a look around at the pictures and art adorning the room’s pastel yellow walls. Wait. 

“Cas, we picked out dark green for the nursery, right?” He blinks again, and the walls are their familiar deep green - viridian, according to the label. They went back and forth for hours before picking it out; it’s cool, calming, and reminds Cas of his plants. 

“Dean, are you okay?” Cas wriggles out of his arms, turns to look him in the eyes. But something’s _wrong_ , because he might be shit at remembering doctor’s appointments and wedding registries and how much water is appropriate for forget-me-nots, but he knows what color his husband’s eyes are, and right now, Cas’ eyes are about three shades too light, like they belong to another Winchester that spent a lot of time in a nursery. The room is too warm. Distantly, he hears the tell-tale hitch of breath that says Jack’s about to start crying. “Dean?” 

The next time he blinks, Cas is on the ceiling, and Jack is crying in earnest. The flames spread from Cas’ chest, dripping with blood, the wound angry and fresh, to the walls and floor. His head is pounding, he can’t _think--_

He jolts awake, drenched in sweat despite the Bunker being freezing at night. He can still hear Jack crying over the baby monitor. It comes back to him all at once - Lucifer catching Cas in the back with an angel blade, clutching Jack tightly to his chest as he watched Cas’ body burn, the silent drive back to an empty Bunker with a baby in tow. He rubs at his face, resigned when he feels dried tears. It’s the same nightmare every time, has been for weeks now, he should be used to it by now.

“Dammit. Goddammit.” He falls back against his pillow, checks the time on the clock on his nightstand. 3 AM sharp. Jack keeps crying. Five seconds. Deep breath in, deep breath out. He’s fine. He can do this alone. 

That’s what he tells himself as he quietly makes his way to the kitchen to warm up a bottle for Cas’ son.

**Author's Note:**

> (:
> 
> Comments and kudos always appreciated, come hang out with me on Tumblr at [@lobotomycastiel](https://lobotomycastiel.tumblr.com)!


End file.
